


Gotta Help Me Out

by sunshinexbomb



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Stanley Cup Celebrations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexbomb/pseuds/sunshinexbomb
Summary: Philipp closes his eyes. The night before is a blur. He remembers - not much at all. Snippets. Dancing. Music. TJ yelling something in his ear. He remembers finding Kuzy on the dancefloor. He remembers -“Fuck,” Philipp says, sitting up quickly and then regretting it immediately. “Fuck,” he says again, more of a moan as he cradles his head in his hands. When his head feels a bit more steady, he drops his hands a bit so he can see them and -“Kuz, I think we got married.”--In which Philipp and Evgeny getting married might be the only thing keeping Philipp with the Capitals.





	Gotta Help Me Out

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats to me, a founder of Caps Monthly, for finally fucking finishing something in time for Caps Monthly. Prompts used are player of the month, Evgeny Kuznetsov, and "marriage" as a trope. 
> 
> Thanks to Julie for the quick beta - all other mistakes are my own. Title is from Katy Perry's "Waking Up In Vegas". Everything read here is fictional except for the parts that aren't like how the motherfucking Washington Capitals are fucking **Stanley Cup Champions**. 
> 
> (I wish the part about Grubi staying in DC was also true but hopefully the Avs will treat him right!)

Sometimes, when they’re all drunk, TJ gets ideas, and they’re never any good. Usually they’re harmless, but with consequence, like, _Let’s get matching tattoos!_ or once, infamously, _What if we went, like, streaking?_ and usually everyone’s too drunk to admit that, hey, maybe we should _not_ do something that inevitably ends with someone more responsible - or at least more sober - having to bail us out and deal with the fallout.

Drinking impairs your judgement or some shit, or so Philipp has heard.

Right now, every suggestion sounds fucking amazing because they’ve just won the fucking Stanley Cup and Philipp’s more drunk than he’s ever been in his life. Probably, TJ could suggest they go swim naked in the Bellagio fountain and Philipp would strip down without question. It’s just that kind of night.

What TJ does suggest, however, is totally different.

“John, John, Carly _, babe,_ ” TJ whines, draping himself over Carly’s back without warning and making him spill some of his drink over Philipp’s shoes. 

They’re in a club, Philipp’s not sure which one, and he’s already too soaked in champagne and beer and other questionable alcoholic beverages to care about the liquid seeping into his sneakers now. They’re not down in the middle of it all, a few of them taking a breather and sitting along the edges where they can at least hear each other, but Philipp can still feel the thumping bass deep in the hollow of his chest.

“What, babe?” Carly asks with a laugh, hugging the arm TJ’s got around his chest closer to him.

“This night is fucking amazing,” TJ says, but he’s not smiling, which is weird because Philipp doesn’t think he’s _stopped_ smiling since Devo spilled to the ice and the puck miraculously landed in the net. “But, babe. What if we don’t get a night like this again? What if we win the Cup and that’s, like, it. What if you don’t come back next season? What if Grubi doesn’t come back next season?”

“Dude, buzzkill much?” Carly says, pushing TJ off him with another laugh. “We’re in fucking Vegas and we just won the fucking Cup. Why are you thinking about this shit?”

“I don’t know,” TJ frowns, plopping down in the empty seat next to Philipp. He lets his head fall down on Philipp’s shoulder and Philipp pets his hair consolingly. “I don’t want you guys to leave. You’re my _brothers_ -”

“Then we just make sure we do come back,” Philipp says simply, like it’s that easy. Because Carly’s right, and TJ has reached that part of the night where he’s being fucking morose and probably needs a few more shots to get his spirits back up.

“How?” TJ mumbles into Philipp’s shoulder. It’s muffled and Philipp can feel the word reverberate against him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Philipp says, patting TJ’s head again even though his hair is damp and sticky and all kinds of gross.

TJ lifts, his head, still pouting a bit, but he smiles when Carly hands TJ and then Philipp a shot, and god, Philipp’s so drunk he didn’t even notice that Carly had _left_.

“To Vegas,” Carly says, lifting his shot glass and clinking it sloppily against Philipp’s, “and hopefully to new contracts.”

“To Vegas!” TJ repeats more enthusiastically, but then freezes, shot halfway to his mouth. “Babe, _babe_ , we’re in fucking _Vegas_.”

“Yeah, you just notice, Teej?” Carly asks, downing his own drink and then wrapping an arm around TJ’s neck.

“No, buddy, like it’s _Vegas_ ,” TJ says, like that’s supposed to clarify whatever point he’s trying to make. Maybe to TJ, it does help. “You know what people do in Vegas?”

“Drink,” Carly says.

“Gamble,” Philipp supplies.

“Drink more -”

“They get fucking _married_ ,” TJ interrupts, before they can get any farther. “You guys should get _married_. That, that fucking _clause_ in the CBA. The husband clause -”

“I’m already married TJ,” Carly points out slowly, flashing the ring on his finger. 

“But Grubs isn’t! Carly, babe, we should get Grubs _married_ and then we’ll know, at least one of you guys are staying.”

Philipp can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him like champagne from a bottle. Even despite the drinks, he knows TJ is being ridiculous. But Carly is nodding seriously, eyes wide, and god, this whole thing is absurd. Philipp is _not_ getting married tonight, not to anyone on the team, not to _anyone_.

“TJ, fuck no,” Philipp says, still laughing, but the determination in TJ’s eyes is fierce.

“Fucking rights, Grubs. Let’s get you married.” He finally throws back his shot, and honestly, what happens next is Philipp’s own fault for following after TJ in the first place.

\--

TJ buys them a couple more shots and then after that, Philipp doesn’t really remember much. 

They’re still in the club and it’s fucking _loud_ down where Ovi’s got the Cup in his hands, holding it over his head whenever someone’s not filling it to the brim with alcohol. 

At one point, Philipp drinks from the Cup, the metal cool against his lips.

At another, Philipp is laughing himself into stitches, watching Backy dancing on a table and Tom is handing the Cup to the DJ and V has gotten his hands on an old Orpik jersey from somewhere and there’s just so fucking much going on. Philipp’s head is spinning with drinks and laughter and pure fucking _joy_ because they’re Stanley Cup Champions.

And then, TJ drags him out to dance at and Philipp finds, well, _someone_. All he remembers is the flash of a bright smile, a loud laugh. He remembers arms around his waist and the taste of beer on someone’s mouth.

And then, after that, Philipp remembers nothing.

\--

In the morning - or at least, Philipp thinks it’s morning, _god_ what fucking time is it? - Philipp wakes up to knocking on his hotel door. It’s fucking _loud_ , like those annoying fucking canons in Columbus and the sound rolls and echoes through Philipp’s head.

“What the fuck?” Philipp mumbles. He’s surprisingly not nauseous, but he think it’s because he might still be drunk. He lifts his head hesitantly, and yup, his vision swims and he is definitely not completely sober.

“We’re heading to the plane in an hour,” a voice calls through the door when Philipp can’t do anything but groan in response. He thinks it’s Braden, maybe. It’s hard to tell, but at the very least the voice is familiar.

Philipp’s pretty sure he responds, or that whatever noise he makes is enough to make the knocking stop, and Philipp lies in blissed silence for a moment.

Then someone asks, “Who was that?”

If Philipp’s head wasn’t spinning so much he’d probably be more startled that there’s someone in his bed with him and that he didn’t even fucking notice until now. At the moment, though, all he can do is turn gingerly, and be relieved that it’s just Kuzy.

“Don’t know,” Philipp mumbles. “We’re heading to the plane soon.”

Kuzy’s got his head buried underneath a pillow, but even without seeing his face, Philipp knows it’s definitely him. The tattoos are a giveaway, as are the chains hanging around his neck. Philipp’s just glad it’s someone he _knows_.

“We have to get up?” Kuzy asks, his voice muffled.

“Eventually.”

Kuzy makes a soft noise in response that could be acceptance or disdain.

Philipp closes his eyes. The night before is a blur. He remembers - not much at all. Snippets. Dancing. Music. TJ yelling something in his ear. He remembers finding Kuzy on the dancefloor. He remembers -

“Fuck,” Philipp says, sitting up quickly and then regretting it immediately. “Fuck,” he says again, more of a moan as he cradles his head in his hands. When his head feels a bit more steady, he drops his hands a bit so he can see them and -

“Kuz, I think we got married.”

“Hm?” Kuzy finally peeks his head out to look at Philipp. His hair is a mess, and even his beard is disheveled. His eyes are bleary and Philipp’s not sure if it’s because of sleep or lack of sobriety. “What?”

Philipp holds out his hand, shows Kuzy the simple gold band on his finger that wasn’t there last night. Kuzy looks at his own hand and just as Philipp suspected, there’s a matching ring, except in silver. Kuzy groans.

“Fucking great,” Kuzy says and drops his head back down. 

For now, Philipp can’t think of anything to do but the same.

\--

Somehow, Philipp’s not sure how, they make it onto the bus and then after that onto the plane. It takes a lot of coffee and a lot of water and a lot of complaining from them both.

Philipp is a bit surprised when Kuzy sits next to him on the plane. He’d seemed, well, unhappy is one word for it probably. Annoyed. Disgruntled. It was just hard to tell at what, and Philipp is glad it doesn’t seem to be at him.

“Why we get married?” Kuzy asks after the plane’s taken off. It’s loud enough that no one can hear them. Someone’s trying to lead a rendition of “We Are The Champions”, the Swedes are doing _something_ \- wrestling, maybe? - and Ovi still hasn’t let go of the Cup. No one’s paying attention to their quiet conversation.

Philipp tries to think back. He fiddles with the ring on his finger. It fits nearly perfectly, the metal still sleek and shiny.

“TJ,” he says finally. “Something about - contracts?”

“Marriage contracts?” Kuzy asks.

Phillip shakes his head, which he’s glad he can do with minimum consequence. “No. My contract. With the team. And I guess yours. Because if we’re married -”

Realization dawns on Kuzy’s face. He manages a soft laugh. “If we get married, my contract become your contract. Husband clause.”

Philipp nods. “TJ was. Determined. Wanted me to stay on the team.”

“You just use me for my big, long contract, Grubs?” Kuzy jokes and Philipp rolls his eyes.

“Why else would someone marry you?”

Kuzy bumps their shoulders together gently as Philipp laughs. But he also takes Philipp’s hand in his, examines the ring on Philipp’s finger and then the one on his own. Philipp doesn’t really mind that Kuzy doesn’t seem to have an inclination to let go anytime soon.

“You don’t have to stay married to me, you know,” Philipp says after Kuzy’s been quiet for a little. “Like, don’t think you have to just because of a contract extension or - whatever.”

Kuzy looks at him consideringly. “And what if I want to stay married?”

“Then that would be okay too,” Philipp says. “I could have done worse. What if I’d married like, Willy or something. At least you speak German.”

Kuzy laughs, loud, eyes crinkling with it. It makes Philipp smile, too. Kuzy’s laugh always has. 

They settle into comfortable silence. Philipp’s hand is still in Kuzy’s and he has no intention in moving it.

At the front of the plane there’s commotion. Somewhere behind them, Nicky’s taken his pants off and Philipp doesn’t want to know why. Burky and Djooser are laughing loudly and Ovi’s fallen asleep spooning the Cup.

TJ finds them still holding hands, grinning widely at them both and cheering much too loudly.

“My brothers the newlyweds!” he crows and Philipp wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“Please don’t say it like that, TJ.”

TJ ignores him, hugging them both. He kisses the top of Philipp’s head, and then the top of Kuzy’s. “I knew we’d figure out some way to keep you around, Grubs. Now just gotta do something about Carly.”

“You gonna figure it out, Teej,” Kuzy says. 

“Yeah, I will,” TJ says with confidence. “I figured this out, after all. Congrats guys.”

TJ leaves them with a huge smile, one that’s mirrored on Kuzy’s face and that Philipp can’t keep of his own. 

“Stanley Cup Champions and newlyweds has a nice ring to it,” Philipp says, and Kuzy laughs.

He surprises Philipp with a kiss, one that’s soft and quick and Philipp is taken back to the night before. He remembers a bit more, Kuzy grabbing him on the dancefloor. Kuzy’s arms around his neck. Kuzy’s mouth on his. All before any mention of a contract, of marriage, of a ridiculous clause thought of by the NHLPA.

Philipp kisses back and lets his head pillow onto Kuzy’s shoulder afterward. With the team celebrating around them, with Kuzy’s hand in his, and years to look forward to together, Philipp can’t help but feel on top of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. Come talk to me on Twitter or Tumblr @ tjoshov.


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